Locked
by all.I.want.to.do.is.fly
Summary: She will always remember the man who beat her at her own game...the man who changed her life. So when he comes to her door, she will help in any way she can. Because she is Irene Adler, and Sherlock Holmes is nothing without John Watson. SPOILERS for S2.
1. Locked

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: I was listening to Irene's theme music today and this popped into my head. As a general note, I don't like Irene Adler as Sherlock's love interest, however I think she is a fantastic character and was brilliantly written and acted in "A Scandal in Belgravia." Anything romantic in this oneshot is entirely one-sided. So…no flames please. SPOILERS for season 2!

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><p>Before Sherlock Holmes, Irene Adler had an identity. She was "The Woman," a beautiful, successful, intelligent woman who was very good at knowing what people liked. She was proud of that identity. It came with a reputation, a prestige that she flaunted whenever she could. But that was before Sherlock Holmes…the man who changed everything.<p>

She never intended to become as invested as she did. She just wanted to play the game. But Irene found that one could not simply play with a man like Sherlock Holmes and walk away unscathed.

He ruined her. That fascinating, brilliant, beautiful man took away everything that she held dear and he did it with a cold callousness that she never would have expected from him. She should have.

It was her fault. She toyed with him like a specimen under a microscope, wanting to discover how he ticked, how he felt…anything and everything. She got too close, wanting him to fall in love with her, wanting to bring him to his knees. She should have known she wouldn't be able to get that far.

Of course her plan backfired, and rather spectacularly at that. She never dreamed she would have genuine feelings for him. "The Woman" didn't have lovers, she had subjects that worshiped at her altar. There was no space, no time for love. It was a meaningless emotion. A distraction. But she wanted Sherlock Holmes. Wanted him more than anyone in the world. And she had been beaten because of it.

When she looks back at that moment, she is overcome with feeling. She had been so close to winning the game, so close that she believed she really had beaten not one but both of the great Holmes brothers. She remembers the dead look in his eyes, the sharpness with which he punched each digit into the keypad. It was like daggers piercing her skin. And she was ashamed of herself.

"_I was just playing the game."_

She spent a lot of time thinking after that encounter. After all, there was little else to do while in hiding. It was then that she realized how foolish she had truly been. She had teased John Watson, of course she had. But that was just good fun. Except…except that it was more than that to them. It must have been.

When she made that realization, her mind spun, going back over every encounter between them all, looking for a moment…there.

She had been naked the first time they met. She was a beautiful woman, and yet Sherlock Holmes had only given her a brief appraisal, utterly unfazed by her lack of undress. The good doctor was much the same. Oh he noticed her more of course, but after his initial shock, his attention was firmly fixed on Sherlock.

She wondered if they knew themselves what was so obvious to everyone else. She remembered one of her parting shots to Doctor Watson and laughed at how right she had been.

"_We're not a couple."_

"_Yes you are."_

The day she "died," she told Sherlock that she knew. He brushed her off in his typical fashion at the time, but when he texted her later on her new phone he asked her how she figured it out. It just went to show that when "The Woman" believes you're a couple…you probably are, even if you can't admit it.

The day Sherlock Holmes committed suicide, she cried. Not because he was dead, no, she knew he would have figured out Moriarty's trap long before the final fall and must have found a way to combat it. She cried because her heart broke for both men: John Watson who would believe that his best friend and the love of his life was dead and Sherlock, the best of men, who would force himself to stay away to keep his love safe.

Before Sherlock Holmes, Irene Adler was "The Woman." Now, she is simply _a _woman who will always care for the man who changed her, in some ways for the better. So when he turns up on her doorstep, and she knows he will, she will help him the best she can.

Because he is Sherlock Holmes. And she is, and will forever be, SHERlocked.

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><p>AN: Review?


	2. Pushed

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: I had too many thoughts running around my head after the first chapter that I couldn't let it stay a oneshot. This will likely be around 4 chapters, maybe longer if I have some more ideas. Sherlock/Irene friendship, pre-Sherlock/John, one-sided Irene/Sherlock. Minute spoilers for "The Reichenbach Fall." Also, "Some miracles take time" was used in my "Catharsis" series and was coined by FicletMistress.

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><p>It took him longer to show up than she expected, but when he did her heart broke for him even more. The great Sherlock Holmes looked…shattered. The epitome of a man who had lost everything. It was worse because he was still so close to everyone he cared about, but he couldn't speak to them, couldn't touch them, couldnt't even let himself be seen by them.<p>

He told her everything. About Moriarty and their game, his past cases, his fall, his survival. But he didn't talk about John until she asked. And when she did, she almost wished she hadn't because the gasping sobs that filled the air as he detailed the speech he overheard at his grave were so unlike him that she didn't know what to do except let him cry. But she did know that he wouldn't be able to accomplish anything if he was that broken. So she decided there was only one way to fix that.

"He needs to know," she murmured.

He raised his head from where they were buried in his hands and looked at her questioningly through red-rimmed eyes.

"I can't tell him. There's no way he can find out."

"You silly boy," she teased, "of course _you_ can't tell him. But you're not the only one the world believes to be dead. The only difference is that I don't have people looking out to make sure I'm actually in the ground. I'll tell him. Besides, I'll need something from him anyway if you're going to succeed in eliminating Moriarty's web."

"What do you mean?" He asked, his eyes narrowing.

She smirked. "Insurance."

He looked puzzled for a moment before realization washed over his face. He was far calmer now that they were developing the beginnings of a plan.

"What do I need from it?"

"It has almost everything you could want. Names, last known locations, details of almost every criminal known to be a part of the web. I may have gotten out, but I kept very good tabs before I gave up my little toy. I think it's your best bet…unless you were planning to go to your brother."

He shook his head. "I can't do that. Not yet at any rate."

Sherlock pondered the plan for a moment.

"The phone is in my desk." A dark smile came over his features. "Did Moriarty know? That you were even better at this game than he was?"

"You flatter me Mr. Holmes. Of course he didn't."

The plan was set. She would contact John and arrange a meeting, tell the good doctor what he deserved to know, and get her phone back so Sherlock could begin his mission. She hoped it would work.

The pair sat in silence for a while and she watched him. Usually he was a blank slate, but at that moment she could read every thought that was going through his mind. It wasn't difficult…after all; they were all related to the same subject.

As she watched, a minute sigh escaped Sherlock's lips and her heart went out to him once more, torn between being glad she could bring him some small amount of relief and wishing he could find it himself.

Finally, he stood to leave. But she couldn't let him go without knowing one thing.

"Is there anything specific you want me to tell him?" She asked quietly.

Sherlock swallowed visibly. "Tell John…" His voice broke and he cleared his throat. "Tell him that some miracles take time."

"Is that all?"

_Let me tell him, please. If I can't have it for myself, let me give your love to him. Please. I'll tell him._

"Tell him that I'm sorry. Until next time, Miss Adler." And with that he walked out of the flat, his coat flying out behind him as if it were his wings. But goodness knows, Sherlock Holmes is no angel.

Irene Adler stared at the closed door for a moment and whispered, "Until next time…Sherlock."

With that, she shook herself out of her reverie and reached for her phone. After all, she had a job to do.

**I'm not dead, Doctor Watson. Why don't we have dinner? xx**

And if it was killing her inside, she may as well have some fun with it.

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><p>Review?<p> 


	3. Picked

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: And here we get some Irene/John interaction. Enjoy.

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><p><strong>I'm not dead, Doctor Watson. Why don't we have dinner? xx<strong>

It only took about ten minutes for Irene to get a response.

**Who is this? JW**

** I think you know exactly who this is my dear doctor. Let's skip the pretenses. Dinner?**

**No. Miss Adler, I don't know how you're alive, but I can't think of any reason I would want to see you. Especially now. JW**

She sighed. _Well, no one said this would be easy._

**I think you should want to see me. Particularly now. I have something that may be of interest to you. IA**

**What do you mean? JW**

**Now that would be telling. Baker Street, one hour? IA**

**Fine. JW**

**And Doctor Watson, kindly leave the elder Mr. Holmes out of this. See you later. x**

She set the phone aside and went to her closet. John Watson was expecting "The Woman," and that's who he would get.

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><p>Exactly one hour later, Irene Adler knocked on the door of 221B Baker Street and was met by a rather disgruntled looking John Watson.<p>

"Hello, Doctor Watson. It's nice to see you."

"Miss Adler. I wish I could say the same."

She swept past him and into the flat, crossing to the chair subtly designated as Sherlock's and sat down. John stared at her for a moment and she took note of the many emotions that passed across his face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemingly thought better of it and instead crossed to his own seat.

"Well? You're here. What do you want from me?" His tone had lost its edge from earlier and was now simply resigned.

Her gaze softened.

"How are you?"

John looked at her incredulously.

"How am…how am I? How the hell do you think I am?"

"Not very well, I would imagine," she responded.

"Tell me what you're doing here." He demanded.

She got up from the chair and crossed to the mantelpiece, running her fingers over the skull that still remained there.

"I suppose if I cared about someone like Sherlock Holmes as much as you did, I would be rather distressed by his death as well. Tell me, have you figured it out yet? That you were in love with him? Or was I wrong, and you're just like everyone else who thinks he's a fake who manipulated the world?"

At her last question she turned to face him, wanting to observe his reaction and confirm her suspicions that Sherlock's feelings weren't one-sided. She needn't have worried.

Irene didn't know what she expected from John Watson. A denial maybe, sadness, resignation, anger. She definitely got anger, but it was cold, controlled, and the raw honesty and determination in his face told her everything she needed to know when he answered.

"I don't know why you're here, or what you want from me, and I'm not entirely sure why I'm bothering to explain myself to you of all people. But, Sherlock Holmes was my best friend and he was no fraud. I will _always_ believe that, no matter who says otherwise. And if it's so important that you know, yes, I was in love with him. Not that it matters now. It's too late."

"Is it?" She murmured.

John narrowed his eyes at her. "What are you talking about? Of course it is. Sherlock is _dead_. I went to his funeral. I watched…" his voice cut off as grief began breaking through his military mask.

She felt terrible for her callous behavior as she watched him struggle to pull himself back together.

_Forgive me, Doctor Watson. I had to be sure._

"You watched him fall off a roof. It would take…a miracle for someone to come back from that, yes?" She questioned.

John sighed. "Yes. It would take a miracle, but…"

She cut him off.

"One miracle. Just one more miracle. For you."

He paled. "Why…why are you saying those words? How did you hear them?"

Irene looked directly into his eyes, wanting to communicate her message the best she could without stating it outright, desperately hoping he would understand.

"I've been told that some miracles take time, Doctor Watson. Sometimes, all one needs to do is be patient."

Hope flashed across John's face and his voice trembled minutely as he asked, "Told by who, Miss Adler?"

She smiled softly. "By someone who wants you to know they are so very sorry. And I'm certainly not talking about Mycroft Holmes. Do you know what I'm telling you, Doctor?"

Understanding flashed across his features and he nodded.

"That can't be the only reason you came. What do you need?" John asked quietly.

"Just a bit of insurance. I was told it's in his desk."

She crossed the room and opened the desk drawer, rummaging for a moment before pulling out her old phone.

"Is that it?" He wondered.

"That's it."

And so, John Watson walked Irene Adler to the door.

"It was…nice to see you again Miss Adler."

"And you Doctor Watson."

Under the pretense of opening the door for her, he leaned in briefly and whispered, "Tell him not to stay away for too long. Please."

"I will."

He smiled.

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><p>When Irene got back to her flat that evening, Sherlock was waiting for her. Wordlessly, she held out the phone and he took it, sliding it into the confines of his coat. He didn't ask about the meeting and she didn't offer any information, but as he went to leave she stopped him and relayed John's parting message.<p>

Sherlock's eyes closed for a second, and when they opened again, they were ablaze with determination.

"I won't. Thank you…Irene."

"You are most welcome, Mr. Holmes."

As he left, she reflected back on the man in 221B Baker Street, and realized that she had been mistaken. Sherlock was the lucky one, to have a partner as incredible as John Watson. She found herself wanting to get to know the good doctor better. After all, it wasn't often that she was surprised.

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><p>Review?<p> 


	4. Opened

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: I think I'll let you all see for yourselves this time…

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><p>It had been a year and a half.<p>

After that first day, Irene met with John many more times. Sometimes she would text him, but more frequently he would ask her to meet him. There were a few times when she was able to bring him news on how Sherlock was. Other times they would just sit and talk.

For her, it was interesting to reflect on their shifting dynamic. Early on, John was reluctant to open up about anything, especially his relationship with Sherlock. But as he began to see the woman behind the dominatrix persona, he began to tell her more about his life in general and his daily struggles. She was happy to note that since their first meeting, his limp had gone away again. Sherlock was also quite glad to hear it, or at least that was what she surmised from his messages.

Irene looked forward to hearing from Sherlock, but she also enjoyed her time spent with John. In an odd way they had almost become…friends. It was a strange concept for her. She didn't really have "friends."

They didn't talk about Sherlock directly very much. When she gave John updates, they were always carefully worded. After all, they couldn't be positive that no one else was listening. Additionally, it was easier to simply not talk about him than to have to pretend he was dead. So instead they talked about John's job at the surgery, his consulting work with Lestrade who had turned to him after Sherlock's death, Mrs. Hudson, even Mycroft on occasion. Their chats were light, fun, or as close as they could come to it, and she generally returned home feeling better about the entire situation.

Their last meeting though…that concerned her. Irene hadn't had a message from Sherlock in almost six weeks which was slightly worrying but she assumed he had simply been busy. However, as she and John sat in the park near Baker Street, she saw someone watching them.

Under some circumstances, she could have written off her observation as a fluke. John was still a recognizable figure due to all the media attention he and Sherlock had received in the past. Unfortunately, she couldn't let it go because she recognized the person she had seen. It may have been some time, but she wasn't likely to forget him.

Sebastian Moran was a man she had gotten to know fairly well during her time as Moriarty's associate. He may not have been as brilliant as her or the consulting criminal, but he was dangerous in his own right. Enough so that if he was keeping tabs on John it did not bode well for him or Sherlock. And that just wouldn't do.

So it was easy enough for her to devise a plan. While she and Sebastian had never trusted each other, at one time she had at least known his phone number. All she had to do was remember what it was. It was a simple enough task; Sherlock wasn't the only one with a mind palace.

**Hello lovely. Saw you the other day. We should talk. Xx**

His response took less than a minute.

**Well, well, Miss Adler. My eyes weren't deceiving me then. I suppose we could "talk." Although I'd much rather play. SM**

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. She knew he had been interested in her…talents when they worked together, but she felt it was too risky to involve herself with him. She knew people, knew what they liked, and Sebastian Moran never struck her as a man who would submit to a woman under any circumstance. And that was enough of a warning flag for her.

**I think we should just talk for now. The roof of St. Bart's at 7? Do try to leave the rifle at home.**

** Only for you, my dear. I'll be there. SM**

And the plan was in motion. She had two hours to wait, so she texted Sherlock, hoping he hadn't changed phones again recently.

**There's a problem. John may be in trouble. Don't worry; I'm taking care of it. Trust me. IA**

Then she started getting ready.

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><p>The roof was dark as Irene stepped out onto it. She purposefully arrived late, wanting him to have had to wait for her. Sebastian was a patient man when he had a job to do, but in everyday life he despised waiting around. Sure enough, he stood by the edge of the roof, his fingers tapping the ledge and his back to her.<p>

"You're late, Miss Adler." He called without looking back at her.

"I prefer to think that you are simply early Mr. Moran." She replied.

"Why am I here?" He asked.

"Why were you following me?" She shot back.

She knew it wasn't her he had been tracking, but she was hoping he would tell her outright what his plans were for John.

He turned to face her.

"You? I wasn't following you. It's your little pet I'm concerned with. Doctor John Watson…first Sherlock Holmes, and then you. I really don't understand the appeal."

_Well, you wouldn't. Because John Watson is a hundred times the man you will ever be._

"Why are you keeping tabs on him? He's not important."

He smirked.

"Now Miss Adler, we both know that isn't true. Sherlock Holmes may be dead in the eyes of the world, but someone has wiped out almost all of Moriarty's criminal network, and chances are that person cares about Mr. Watson. Chances are, that person is Sherlock Holmes himself, although how he survived that fall, I'd like to know."

Her blood went cold.

"Sherlock Holmes is dead."

"So are you. And yet you're standing right here in front of me."

She began to walk towards him.

"Why do you care so much? Moriarty's dead. You don't need to be his little watchdog anymore." She taunted.

"I was an important part of the organization. He needed me." But his voice had become tinged with uncertainty.

She stopped in front of him.

"He didn't need anyone. He never needed anyone. He needed a job done, but there are many people with your qualifications. You were always expendable to him."

He shut his eyes. "Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about."

Irene took one step closer, pressing her body against his. She leaned in so that her lips touched his ear and trailed one hand down the side of his neck. He swallowed thickly.

"You are now, and have always been…nothing." And with that final whisper, she plunged the syringe she had concealed in her hand into his neck.

His eyes flew open and he looked at her in shock.

"What did you just…"

A cold smile flickered across her mouth.

"You wanted to play. Goodbye, Sebastian."

Irene turned her back and began walking away, leaving the fast-acting poison to do its job. She heard his body fall to the ground…and then she heard the click of a gun. She whipped around, only having enough time to register Moran's dying figure pointing the weapon at her at her before it went off.

She saw the firearm fall out of his hand as he finally succumbed to the poison coursing through his veins. Then she felt the pain.

The bullet had hit her in the abdomen. She pressed a hand to the wound and fell to her knees, dizzy from both what she had just done and her current condition. She pulled her hand away briefly and gazed at the blood on the appendage, unable to register that it was her own.

She looked over at Moran's body. Then she laughed. Laughed at the pain, at the fact that someone so insignificant had injured her, at herself for putting herself in this situation for a man who would never feel the same way about her. Then she stopped abruptly as a thought flickered through her mind.

She had thought about it before, but the last time it had been expected, she was resigned to it. But Sherlock had saved her then. Now she wasn't ready.

_I'm going to die._

She only realized she had said it aloud when she got a response.

"Don't be an idiot. You're not going to die," a familiar voice said from behind her.

"I thought I told you to trust me," she retorted.

"I thought you might need some help. Clearly I was right."

The figure moved to kneel down in front of her and the world went black.

The last thing Irene Adler saw was the face of Sherlock Holmes.

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><p>AN: Review? And don't worry, I still have some tricks up my sleeve.


	5. Released

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Thanks to everyone for the great response to the last chapter. Enjoy!

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><p>Irene woke up to bright lights and white walls.<p>

_Hospital. Not dead then. Lovely._

She was groggy and could feel a slight twinge from her abdomen, but otherwise seemed to be just fine.

"You're awake. Feeling better then?" asked a soft voice from somewhere to her right.

She turned her head to see Sherlock standing in the doorway.

"How am I in the hospital? I don't technically exist."

"You did me a favor by eliminating Moran. He was the last piece of the web. The least I could do was get you medical attention. I called my brother."

She let out a short laugh.

"I'm sure that went over well. Mycroft receiving a call from his dead brother requesting help for the dead woman who tried to blackmail him. I would have loved to have seen his face."

Sherlock smirked. "I'm sure it was quite a sight."

"That's twice now you've saved my life." She said. "I suppose I should thank you."

"You saved mine. I believe we're even." He replied.

She smiled.

"So…the last piece. Does that mean you're back? You can resurface?" Irene wondered.

Sherlock crossed the room to sit by her bed.

"The process has begun. I recorded my final confrontation with Moriarty in order to clear my name when I was able to come back to London. Mycroft is circulating the recording to all major media outlets along with the story that I faked my death. By this time tomorrow my life will be back to how it was."

She nodded.

"Have you been back to Baker Street yet?"

He hesitated a moment before letting out a small sigh.

"No. Not yet."

She fixed him with a sharp glare.

"Sherlock Holmes. Do you mean to tell me that John Watson is still sitting in that flat, alone, wondering where in the world you are and worrying about if you're still alive? Are you really sitting in a hospital room with me right now when you could be reuniting with the love of your life? Really?"

He looked rather taken aback at her outburst.

"I…wanted to make sure you were alright," he muttered.

"No, you're worried he'll be upset with you so you're putting off going home. He has every right to be upset…but I think he'll just be glad you're safe."

He had the decency to look sheepish…or as close to it as he would ever get.

"I don't know what to say to him." His voice was tinged with an uncharacteristic vulnerability.

She sighed.

"Say anything. Say everything. Just go home, Sherlock. I've waited far too long to see the two of you together to let you waste time now."

"Alright," he said, standing up. "I'll go home."

"Good. And Sherlock? Don't hurt him."

"Never again," he murmured. "I'll be seeing you, Irene."

And with that, he walked out of the room.

Irene shook her head as she watched him go. Those boys…

She knew she would see them soon.

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><p>Sherlock Holmes was not a man who typically cared what anyone else thought of him. As such, he operated outside of social norms such as common courtesy and tact. This wasn't a problem for him…except in the case of John Watson. So now, when faced with the prospect of apologizing to his friend, colleague, flatmate…love, he was struck with uncertainty and a certain vulnerability he rarely experienced.<p>

He knew the logic of the situation. He faked his death to save John's life and the lives of everyone else he cared about. Fact. He couldn't come back because it still wasn't safe. He needed to destroy what was left of Moriarty's network of criminals. Fact. That particular task had taken longer than expected. Fact.

But this was not a logical situation necessarily. He was coming back to the man he loved, hoping he would be able to forgive him for causing him pain. That was emotional. So, even with the facts, he had no way of knowing how he would be received.

Sherlock had left the hospital on Irene's orders and was now standing in front of the door to 221 B Baker Street. He had a key, it would be easy enough to let himself in, but instead he found himself just standing there.

He was afraid.

Afraid that he wouldn't be forgiven, that his actions had damaged his relationship with John beyond repair. That was why he had been avoiding this meeting. Unfortunately, he had gone to the one person who knew him as well as he knew himself and she had called him on his farce.

_"I think he'll be glad you're safe."_

Finally, with a flash of realization, he realized how idiotic he was being. Because he knew John Watson. He needed John Watson. They could fix this. But standing in front of his door doing nothing wouldn't get them anywhere. So he knocked.

When John opened the door to see Sherlock, his eyes widened minutely, but that was the only outward sign of his surprise. Silently he ushered him into the flat and then crossed to his chair and sat.

Sherlock glanced around briefly, noting that everything was exactly the same as when he left. He moved to sit in his own chair, feeling John's eyes on him the whole time.

It was John who broke the silence.

"You back then?"

Sherlock brought his head up to meet his gaze.

"Yes. John, I'm…"

John cut him off.

"I watched you die. I listened to you lie to me, tell me I was your suicide note, and then I watched you die," he said quietly.

"It was necessary."

"Like hell it was. Faking your death, maybe. But not the rest of it."

Sherlock shut his eyes.

"I needed you to believe the lie. I needed you to hate me. I thought it would make things…easier."

"Nothing and no one could ever make me believe you're a fraud. Not even you. And I could never hate you. Not even if I wanted to."

"Do you? Want to hate me?"

John shook his head.

"Of course not."

"Can you forgive me?" Sherlock asked, opening his eyes and fixing them on John.

"You're an idiot."

"I know."

"You hurt me a lot. More than anything."

"I know."

"Well, just so we're clear on that…" John's mouth turned up in a brief smile.

"I forgive you. On one condition. Answer a question for me."

"Anything."

John looked at him curiously.

"Why didn't you ever tell me you were in love with me?"

Sherlock was shocked for exactly four seconds before putting the pieces together.

_Irene, you meddling woman._

"It's quite simple really," he stated. "I had no way of knowing if you felt the same way and preferred not to risk damaging our partnership with any sort of…declaration."

John nodded. "I see. Well, I suppose I'll just have to clarify that for you."

And before Sherlock could inquire as to the nature of that statement, John was kissing him.

_Feelings reciprocated. Right. Okay then._

The boys of Baker Street were a rather preoccupied for some time. When they recounted the tale for Irene later on, she simply smirked.

_Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, reunited at last. God help London. _

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><p>AN: Review?

Thank you to everyone who has supported this story. I may or may not write an epilogue, let me know what you think.


	6. Epilogue: Closed

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>Before Sherlock Holmes, Irene Adler was an identity. After him, she is herself. She wonders sometimes what her life would have been like if they had never met, but can't ever seem to picture it. If nothing else, it would have been…a bit boring. <p>

She still loves him, but perhaps not in the same way as before. However, regardless of that, she will always do anything for him or his doctor. 

Irene doesn't see them as often as she'd like, but she does drop in for a visit occasionally. She is always welcome. 

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson will always be her boys of Baker Street, solving crimes and riddles, making the world brighter. Sometimes they even ask for her help. 

To Irene Adler, everyone is a little bit "Sherlocked." And she wouldn't want it any other way. 

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><p>AN: That's all everyone! Thank you so much for reading. It's been great fun!


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